Hell's Faire lota-4

by John Ringo

  The Long Wall had been laboriously constructed in the years between the first scattered landings and the last major wave. It traveled, more or less, the entire length of the eastern Continental Divide but in this little patch of hell it was a shambles. At passes and other areas that might be struck by heavy Posleen attacks it was built up into modern fortresses of concrete and steel bristling with weaponry. Everywhere else along its length it was about twenty feet high and made out of reinforced concrete with a reinforcing “foot” on the inner side. And, despite the protests of environmentalists, it had no openings. On the inside of the wall was a road, a track really, that had been carved across the entire eastern U.S. Along this wall, when there wasn’t a murthering great battle going on, patrols would crawl along, looking over the wall from time to time to make sure the Posleen weren’t sneaking up the far side.

  However, where the UT hell-weapon had hit, the reinforced concrete had taken a bit of a battering. The wall along the top of Hogsback had already had problems, legacy of the first Posleen attack on the battalion when a small force had blasted holes in it to get through to the humans’ landing zone. But the hell-weapon had done far more, smashing a good third of the wall in the area to the ground and truncating all that was left.

  The good part to that was that the remaining stumps made dandy temporary fighting positions.

  So it was that the company commander stuck his head over a bit of concrete and swore.

  “Apparently good sense is contagious,” he muttered; the Posleen were building a road.

  It wasn’t much of a road and they weren’t going it very well. But they were clearing away rubble and digging into the hillside, cutting a serpentine path up the hills that, otherwise, were impossible for them to scale. They had barely started, though, so there was plenty of time to deal with it.

  “Race, move down that way about thirty meters,” Duncan said, gesturing to the east. “Poole, same distance to the west. Open fire when I do. Target the God Kings.”

  He waited until the two suits were in position and had lined up the distant targets. At the base of the hill, about two thousand meters away, was a cluster of concrete stumps that revealed little more than that there had once been buildings there. It was around those ruins that most of the God Kings were clumped but even two thousand meters was was a simple shot with AID targeting systems. He checked that they had designated their targets then lined up on his first and snuggled the rifle, unnecessarily, into his shoulder.

  “On three. One, two, three.”

  * * *

  Panoratar drifted his tenar back and forth as he watched his oolt struggle to clear the way up the hill. The majority of the dirt of the mountains had been stripped away by the titanic fire of the human weapon but what there was of it was being stripped even further down and then roughly smoothed to lay down something resembling a road.

  It would have gone faster with human equipment, much less Posleen, but there was none locally — any that had existed had been destroyed by the recent blasts — and even if there were, there was not one of the local Kessentai who had the skills to use it. So they had to make the road the old fashioned, and slow, way. Fortunately there were some of the oolt’os who had that as a skill and they were leading the way, skillfully using the rubble from the hill to reinforce the low places and create a narrow path.

  Given time, and a few skilled stone-worker oolt’os, they could create a road that would last for a thousand revolutions of the sun. But that would be unnecessary. All that the local force needed was enough breadth to run their oolt up the hill and then take the humans from the rear.

  “And won’t the humans be surprised,” he grunted to Imarasar just before his tenar exploded.

  * * *

  The saucer-shaped craft of the Posleen God Kings used a crystal matrix power storage system that was highly efficient; it was, in fact, virtually identical to the system used in armored combat suits. But while it was capable of storing enormous power in a very small space, that power was also barely controlled; if the crystalline matrix was disturbed it started a chain-reaction uncontrolled energy release. Which is another way of saying “massive explosion.” In the case of Panoratar’s half-charged system, it was the equivalent of a couple of hundred pounds of TNT. And then there was the shrapnel from the disintegrating tenar.

  The blast slapped outwards and smashed the surrounding God Kings, along with all their most elite normals, to the ground, killing most of them and rendering all the tenar out of commission.

  And then more lines of silver lightning dropped among the force at the base of the hill.

  * * *

  “Nice shot, sir,” Race called. The specialist ran a line of fire across the normals who were at the lead of the road-builders and watched as the depleted uranium teardrops blasted each of the normals into yellow gobbets. “I think those were the guys leading the build.”

  “Probably the ones with the skills,” Poole said, targeting a God King at the edge of the massed group. “Darn.”

  “Missed the power box, huh?” Duncan said. “Your targeting systems won’t pull those up. You have to specifically designate it.”

  “How do you do that?” Race asked as a storm of 3mm rounds slammed into the concrete behind which he was sheltering.

  “Here, I’ll show you,” Duncan replied, activating a command so that Race could watch as he brought up the menu.

  “Uh, if you could just tell me, sir?” Race said, sliding backwards down the hill and scrabbling sideways. “We’re kind of busy.”

  “First you bring up the menu for secondary targeting parameter,” Duncan replied, ignoring the private’s response and a series of HVMs that hammered below his position. “Then choose ‘power systems.’ Once you have that you can see that the gun targeting karat automatically starts prioritizing not just the God Kings but the power crystals in their storage compartment under the God Kings. Then you just stroke the firing button,” he finished, sending a needle burst of teardrops through the power system of an approaching Kessentai and detonating the God King’s saucer. “You’ll notice that it gives a pop-up reading of power levels as well, and if you have the time you can use those to fire on the better-charged saucers, giving you more bang for your buck.”

  There were six overturned tenar and a couple of disintegrated ones at the base of the hill now and if there were any God Kings they were lying low. Duncan nodded his hand and highlighted a couple of the tenar.

  “This is a widely gathered force,” he pointed out, bringing up the bows of the tenar in high relief. “Note the rounding. We’ve got two that are almost pointed, one that is rounded almost into a semicircle and one that is halfway in between. This sort of difference has been noted before in the saucers, called tenar by the Posleen, and in weapons design up to the design of the landers. There seem to be four or five broad styles.”

  Poole ducked down below the concrete and scuttled sideways again, trying not to giggle hysterically at the lecture. “You know, sir, this is just the right time for a lecture on distinctive Posleen styles in saucer design.”

  “What causes the style difference?” Race asked with a laugh.

  “Nobody really knows,” Duncan said. “But it’s interesting to note that while our enemy seems like formless waves of one-ness, they do have some individual and group differences. Probably it’s the difference between Ford and Chevy, but they do have differences. At least the leadership, the Kessentai.”

  He glanced down the hill again where most of the mass of normals was still trying to climb the hill.

  “Not much you can do about these jokers, though,” he sighed, starting to pour fire into the mass. “You just keep killing them until they stop trying to kill you.”

  * * *

  Mitchell glanced up at the main viewscreen and shook his head; the whole valley beyond the river was peppered with red enemy indicators. Cresting the hill was going to be a “special” moment.

  “Everybody ready?” he asked.

&n
bsp; “We’ve got four minutes of water,” Kilzer said. “We found a community water supply but it only had forty thousand gallons. After that’s gone, we’re open to plasma fire.”

  “We’re still here,” LeBlanc said. “We’re rearmed and we’ve got enough replacements that we’re at ninety percent strength. And the river looks fordable.”

  “We’ve got about fifty percent power,” Reeves said. “When the MetalStorms are really going, cross-country speed is going to be cut by two-thirds.”

  “Storms are up, the ones that are left.” Captain Chan sounded tired over the radio. Her crew had consumed half the IV’s in the SheVa and Glenn had had to be evacced. But other than that they were fine. Exhausted, but fine. “Garcia redesigned the reloads so we could have six available each. But we’re down to only fifty-three total reloads so I put six on each of the front systems and scattered the rest out. Once those are gone, the nearest are on the road from Knoxville. The long way. We need to shut these guys down soon.”

  “Eight rounds loaded,” Pruitt said. “Six anti-lander and two of the euphemistically entitled ‘area of effect.’ Also known as God’s Lightbulb and The Big One. And behind us there’s a string of tacitly avoided and spread-out vehicles filled with more hellfire and destruction just in case four ain’t enough. We’ve got a half a pack of cigarettes, a tank of gas, it’s ten miles to the FP and we’ve got sunglasses on.”

  “What??” “Are you crazy? It’s pitch black out here!” “Pruitt, get off the radio…”

  Mitchell shook his head. Even after all the fighting Pruitt was irrepressible.

  “Okay,” he continued, “I guess that will have to do.”

  “Yeah! though I WALK though the valley of the shadow of death, I will FEAR no evil!” Pruitt cried as he cycled the gun to “on” and checked the telltales. The hydraulics were still showing yellow, but what the hell. “For I am the baddest bunny in the valley!”

  “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want,” Kilzer said quietly. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

  “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”

  There was a moment’s pause then Mitchell shook his head.

  “Just this once, I think I prefer that version,” he said quietly. “Okay, let’s go do unto others before they do unto us. Roll it, Reeves.”

  * * *

  As they crested the hill the world disappeared in water, but not before they saw the entire valley erupt in fire.

  “Indy, we’ve already lost power to Turret Nine,” Chan called as the SheVa shuddered from strike after strike.

  “Mitchell, this is LeBlanc. There’s concentrations everywhere. Fortunately, they’re all shooting at you!”

  “Colonel, we’re getting hammered in here!” Indy said. “We’re getting hit heavy on the right flank.”

  “Reeves, turn us ten degrees right,” Mitchell said, looking at the map and estimating their current location. “Kilzer, kill the water, we need to see what we’re doing.”

  As the waterfall dropped away, Mitchell could see fire coming from every hilltop. The terrain was extremely broken so there were probably more Posleen in the valleys, but the ones in view were more than enough to worry about.

  “Major Chan, engage targets of opportunity,” he said, looking at the terrain and trying to determine a good path that would keep them out of the majority of the fire. Most of the fire seemed to be coming from the flats over towards the airfield; the Posleen had apparently retaken that area already.

  “Reeves, keep us down in the river valley,” he finally said. “We’ll head in towards Franklin just before the oxbow up ahead.”

  * * *

  “Hammer it, Charlie,” LeBlanc said. The river had appeared to be fordable to her scouts, but she had no solid numbers on depth or best crossing spots. That being the case, the best bet with an Abrams was just to charge the damned thing and hope that momentum carried them through. It was going to make one hell of a splash.

  She thought about the water for a moment, and the cold of the night, and decided, as the bank approached, that discretion was the better part of tanker valor and dropped into the interior. She was probably still going to get soaked, since her hatch had been blown away by an unlucky round. But any little bit helped.

  She steeled herself for the impact as the tank dropped off the bank and, just for a moment, hung in the air.

  * * *

  To the massive SheVa crossing the river had barely been noticeable. At least at the level of water depth.

  “Colonel!” Indy called as the SheVa wallowed along the bank. “We’ve just gotten a spike on the radiation detectors! It’s not just from the reactor breaches.”

  * * *

  Glennis looked up at the screaming box over her head and had to think for a moment what kind of alarm it was. She realized the meaning just as a huge dollop of water dropped from the hatch onto her back.

  “Son of a BITCH!” she screamed, tearing at her top. She was wearing Gortex cold weather clothing and most of the water had rolled off. But she could feel splashes all over her hair. And the radiation alarm was still squawking. “All vehicles! The river is hot! Radiation! Button up!”

  The only good news was that the river was low and the Abrams had hardly been slowed by the crossing. It was already on the far bank and climbing the slope of the hill, following on the SheVa’s right rear flank.

  She got the Gortex off in the tight confines of the turret and followed it with her BDU top, rubbing at the hair that had escaped her helmet.

  “Nichols, get something to mop that shit up,” she said, gesturing at the spreading puddle on the floor. “We need to get all this stuff out of the turret as fast as possible.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the loader said, grabbing a wad of cleaning cloths and slipping out of his seat to slither to the floor of the turret. It was a tight fit and he slammed his arm into one of the innumerable protruding bits of metal as he did so. “This really sucks, ma’am.”

  “No shit,” Glennis whispered. The rad alarm was screaming fit to wake the dead and she wondered how many rems she’d just picked up. “Colonel Mitchell,” she said, keying her radio, “this is Major LeBlanc and we’ve got a problem, over.”

  * * *

  “General Simosin, this is SheVa Nine,” Mitchell called. “Be advised that the river is hot, probably from runoff from the blast upstream.” Mitchell paused and checked the tactical readouts. For a wonder nobody was shooting at them at the moment. “Major LeBlanc got exposed, we don’t know how badly. And all of her vehicles, and the SheVa, are hot.”

  “Understood,” Simosin said, his voice clipped. “It should make fording interesting.”

  “I don’t think fording is an option, General,” Mitchell replied.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Porter’s Bend, NC, United States of America, Sol III

  0523 EDT Tuesday September 29, 2009 AD

  If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

  Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

  And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

  His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin,

  If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

  Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs

  Bitter as the cud

  Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, —

  My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

  To children ardent for some desperate glory,

  The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

  Pro patria mori.

  — Wilfred Owens


  “Dulce et Decorum Est”

  “Stop it right there,” Kilzer said over the radio. He was back in his rad suit to direct the vehicles into place.

  Although the Posleen were on every side they were not in view of the small pocket below the hills surrounding the river. And for the moment, decontamination had to take precedence over assault.

  LeBlanc looked at all her tracks snuggled up to the side of the SheVa and shook her head. She wondered if she really was starting to feel sick or if it was psychosomatic. She’d know in a few minutes.

  “We’re all here, Kilzer,” she said over the radio. “Do it.” The civilian had found a piece of steel about the right size to cover the hatch and now she slid it into place as a curtain of water fell on the vehicles.

  “I hadn’t even considered this possibility,” Kilzer said over the radio as he watched the torrent dropping on the tracks. “What a great secondary use, though.”

  He looked up as the last trickle dripped from the spouts, then walked out, running a portable detector over the tanks and APCs.

  “What’s the word?” LeBlanc called from her track.

  “You’re still hot,” he called back. “Not immediately life threatening. But we need to get you to a ‘cold’ area within a few hours. We dropped the output by at least half with the shower.” He gestured at her to get down from the track.

  She slid down the side, wondering how much more radiation she was picking up in the process. She noticed that, for once, he didn’t seem to be noticing her chest. In a way it was nice to know he could focus in a crisis. On the other hand, the fact that it was enough of a crisis to distract him was frightening.